


Yes, Commander

by felandaris



Series: The Hooded Hunk of Skyhold and other bad smut catastrophies [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, Bad Smut, Dom!Cullen, F/M, Humor, Light Dom/sub, NSFW, Parody, Shameless Smut, bdsm parody, smut and humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 23:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13646388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felandaris/pseuds/felandaris
Summary: Scout Jim is back... and he's brought company.





	Yes, Commander

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eravalefantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eravalefantasy/gifts).



> I bad-smutted. Again.

The skies contracted with thunder, sharp and threatening as the rage of Andraste herself casting her stony glance down on all sinners. Winds howled through the night’s pitch black, stroking Skyhold’s time-honoured brick with a concubine’s knowing touch- gentle but firm enough to crumble the fortress if they so pleased. The building itself was dark as the night itself, void of any life visible to the bare eye.

 _Almost_ all of the building, that was. For if one looked very closely, far into the depths of Skyhold’s cellars, there was indeed activity to be found.

At the darkest edge of a forgotten corridor, only a sharp eye would have spotted the pale sheen from under the half-rotten door. None but a keen set of ears could have listened through the murky drips from a tatty ceiling to hear the breathless heaves of a chest, luxuriously hairy like the proudest fennec.

And solely the most fearless of souls would have dared to push through beyond decaying wood and human decency to enter the chamber holding the deepest depravity one could possibly imagine.

For at the centre of the windowless room kneeled a figure, clad only in his green hood’s mysterious allure and a leather underthing scanty enough to make an Antivan courtesan blush. The man strained against the ropes confining his wrists, slender shoulders bulging proudly as his neck craned.

“Hello,” the mighty falsetto broke the silence, “please, can you-“

“ _Quiet_!”

Though barely holding any volume, the hissed command had the lad’s fish-blue eyes widen and his lips part on a sound that was mostly moan, possibly part burp. A bead of sweat rolled out from under his hood, dispersing around the studded collar adorning his neck as he waited.

And a wait it was indeed, for the enigmatic voice did not sound again for what could have been minutes but felt like a cruel eternity. When the smooth baritone’s assertive timbre stroked his waxy ears once more, the fickle fellow couldn’t help the shudder wracking the entire five-foot-four of his existence.

“Scout Jim,” came the words from nowhere discernible, “you have shamed the Inquisition.” A pause lingered, poignant and threatening. “Are you ready to be punished for your trespasses?”

Anticipation fluttered in Jim’s chest and voice. “Yes…”

“Yes, _what_?” The gruff bark spoke of wavering patience.

A manly squeal escaped Jim as he corrected himself, swallowing before he conceded, “Yes, _Commander_.”

As if on cue, a shadow loosened from the far corner. Each fateful click of heavy heels raised Jim’s pulse, every half-foot crossed between them tickling wakefulness into the beast his thong was barely restraining.

When the figure finally came to stand before him, awe constricted in Jim’s chest at the sight of his master. Tall as a tree and wide as the door, the Commander towered, looming in an air of mighty menace. His shiny leather ensemble threatenied to burst around the man’s bulging bicep and beastly buttocks. Jim’s poor crotch-harness found itself near bursting as it struggled to confine the sultry scout’s pulsing man-flesh.

But it was the whip dragging behind the man that had Jim’s furry chest heaving again, dainty hands flexing into powerless fists as he admired the tool of his punishment. Nine studded leather tails sweeping the floor with frightening precision, it promised all the hours of sweet agony Jim had so longed for this man to inflict on him.

A mane golden enough to do any lion proud fluttered gently as an accent shaped on the most refined Honnleath farm grazed the room’s atmosphere.

“You’ve shamed the Inquisition,” he repeated, scar jumping menacingly. ”…with your perpetual nosiness, your dangerously inept sword skills and,” the Commander paled, “the smell of those grotesque feet necessitating evacuation of the barracks.”

“Yes-,” Jim flinched as the whip rose just a hand’s with above ground, “yes, C-Commander.”

Nodding, his master appeared satisfied before turning towards the dark corner he’d emerged from. “Bring in the wheel.”

The click of an unseen lever preceded the far wall’s rise from the ground, seemingly disappearing into the ceiling. Jim’s gasp at the treacherous technology softened into a whimper as if he’d already been stroked by the leather cat’s tails.

An odour, pungent punishment in its own right, preceded the terrifying noise as it rolled in. Tall as Jim himself, the device was wide enough for a man to lay flat on its expanse and be retrained with the leather straps hanging from the holes in its sides.

Excitement pounded in Jim’s veins, his loins, straining his leathers to burst as he took in the magnificent tool he’d thought the stuff of lustful legend.

Reading his minion’s thoughts with a perception sharp as his sword, the Commander nodded. “The Cheese Wheel of Punishment.”

“Yes, Commander!” Though confined to his kneeling position, Jim bounced on his heels, giddy joy overflowing into a near-toothless smile as he could already feel the wonderful pain.

But oft as he’d admired it from lonely alcove windows, Jim hadn’t expected the Commander’s lopsided grin to appear in this very moment- certainly not coupled with his next order.

“… and the Punisher.”

The words had barely left the Commander’s luscious lips as the stone grounds shook with the impact of feet large as rocks; horns wide as the door he emerged from, chest broad as a field, he was wearing nought but a bizarre leather hose concealing his manhood- it dangled down between sinewy knees. The Qunari smiled, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s get to work.”

Panic constricted in Jim’s stomach, his loins, shrinking his arousal and possibly loosening a gust of fearfully foul wind.

“ _No_ \- that wasn’t what I… _Commander!_ ”

“James, what is it now?”

The lunchtime sun illuminated teeth white as innocence itself, framed by lips that could only be soft as a babe’s bottom- even if they were currently pursed into a snarl.

Velveteen mantle flowing in the breeze, furs caressing his silhouette, the Commander was none but his dashing self as he looked at Jim- along with the other twenty scouts assembled around him.

“N-nothing,” Jim stammered, praying his hood would conceal his blush, maroon as that magnificent mantle.

“Good,” a golden lock fell into his master’s forehead as he shook his head, “can we continue, then?

“Yes,” Jim smiled, secretively, “ _Yes, Commander_.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it until here I'm awarding you the Golden Manroot!  
>   
> Find me (and the boys) [on Tumblr](https://cullenstairshenanigans.tumblr.com) and now [on Facebook! ](https://www.facebook.com/FelandarisFanFic)


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